


Night One

by Creeptozoologist



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29620167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creeptozoologist/pseuds/Creeptozoologist
Summary: Tommy is locked in with pretty much everything he hates. Tommy spirals.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 351





	Night One

The walls are welling with purple sap.

Tommy is trying hard to breathe. In for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, out for eight seconds. He fills his lungs, concentrates on nothing but the numbers and the expanding of his chest, just like the Blade taught him- but wait, fuck, he hates Techno, doesn’t he? Still, he tries to follow the pattern. Four. Seven. Eight. Over and over.

The sap- or is it a really strange type of ore?- trickles down the crevices of the cell walls, forming jagged paths through the obsidian directly in front of his face. It doesn’t smell of anything, Tommy doesn’t think. At least, he hasn’t taken the time to notice.

He swallows. Lets out a breath. Starts to inhale.

“You have to talk to me at some point, Tommy.”

The younger grits his teeth, hunching his shoulders further.

“Fuck you.”

He hears shifting from somewhere behind him, but no steps towards him. Good. He’d probably bite Dream’s fucking hand off, if he came any closer. Don’t fucking try him.

“You’ll get bored. I know you, Tommy.” A smile is apparent in the way he says it, and Tommy wants to punch his stupid floating head until it doesn’t reposition itself right. “You’ll get bored, and you’ll want to talk, and then we can finally start bonding again. Don’t you want to talk to me, Tommy? Don’t you have stuff you want to say?”

“I want you to shut up.”

“Pff, Tommy,” he says, and the tone is so familiar, so mocking, so fucking _fond_ , Tommy wants to throw up. “No you don’t.”

“You’re always fuckin’ doing that. Telling me what I do and don’t feel. ‘S one of the reasons I hate you so much.” He practically spits the words, and starts kicking himself the moment they’re out his mouth. Dream got him talking. He keeps playing right into his fucking hands.

Dream doesn’t seem to be basking in his victory, judging by the way he sighs. He hears the bop of the back of his head hitting the wall opposite his, and the shifting fabric of Dream sliding down until he’s also sitting on the floor. He resolutely does not look back to check where he is.

Instead, he keeps his eyes on the wall, the faint glow of the sap, its slow descent to the floor. He kind of wants to touch it, run his fingertip through the strange liquid and see what it feels like, but the idea of moving when he knows Dream’s eyes are on the back of his neck is too terrible to consider. He doesn’t want to invite any comments.

Instead, he keeps breathing, paying no attention to the way he learned how, paying no attention to the fear that is making his fingers shake, and _definitely_ no attention to the lava at the front of the room. None at all. He’s past that. He is _past_ that.

But he was past Dream too, wasn’t he? He was past all of this. Or he was supposed to be, after today. He had been able to picture the moment so clearly; stepping out of the prison, into the sunlight. Warming his face and taking a breath, finally free. Closing the book.

He bites his lip so hard he tastes iron.

Dream’s very presence is oppressive- the air is thick with it, or maybe that’s just the heat. Tommy isn’t sure if he means it to be, but decides to blame him like he does.

-

Fuck, maybe Dream was right. His brain is fucking buzzing out of his skull- he can almost taste the words building in the back of his throat, clamming to be let out. Bizarrely, he’s reminded of when he and Tubbo had just joined l’Manburg, the ‘quiet game’ Wilbur made them play when he was busy, or trying to think, or possibly just sick of their shit. _The first person to talk loses._ Tommy never won a game.

He feels the silence like a physical itch, and he mentally bats away the thought that he wishes Dream would say something. He doesn’t. He just doesn’t want it to be so silent. He’s so stiff with fear he can’t even bounce his leg to relieve the tension.

“You’re going to hurt your back, hunched over the way you are.”

Never mind, fuck this, fuck everything.

“And why the fuck do you care, eh? Who told you to give a shit? We back on the posture check level of friendship, are we? Just like we used to be on the ‘I’m going to kill you if you don’t hand over everything you worked to get’ level, you fucking prick?” He’s twisted around to face him, and ignores the almost comical _crackcrackcrack_ of his vertebrae as he does so, proving the elder’s point.

Dream holds up his hands in mock-surrender, shrugging at the teenager’s glare.

“Alright, I was just saying.” He drops his hands to his lap, fiddling idly with he belt loops of the jumpsuit. He turns his head to the ceiling. “Don’t want you getting a hunch.” The tone is just on the line of flippant and genuine concern, and if Tommy weren’t so tired from his panic attack earlier, he’d probably try to deck him again.

“Whatever,” Tommy mumbles instead. Some part of him has settled after his outburst, enough for him to stand up and start pacing the length of the cell, determined to do something other than literally stare at a wall for seven days.

At some point, Dream’s head shifts, and its unnerving not knowing where exactly his eyes are. Or where they’re looking. Its not a given that he’s being watched, but its always a possibility, and Tommy feels it acutely. He huffs.

“There’s nothing to fucking _do_ in here.” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall and tapping his foot rapidly.

Dream hums, and Tommy can _hear_ the fucking satisfaction in his voice.

“Bad thinks I need enrichment. A potted plant, or something. Decoration.”

“Enrichment? Like a pet cat?”

“Catboy Dream,” Dream laughs, and it twists Tommy’s stomach when he catches himself wanting to laugh along.

“Stupid. Fucking inhumane and stupid.”

“Its not so bad,” Dream says, tilting his head. “We have potatoes.”

Tommy grunts and turns his head away. “They’re not even cooked. Raw potatoes, breakfast lunch and dinner. Fuckin’… you wish you were Technoblade, you do. You fucking _wish_.”

Dream gives a sharp laugh, just this side of genuine. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah you do.”

“I just want to be your friend! You and Techno aren’t friends.”

Tommy feels irritation spark in his gut, burning away the instinct to fawn and agree with everything Dream says. He’s talking to him like a fucking child who needs to be taught simple concepts.

“ _We’re_ not fucking friends! For, literally, the exact same reason.”

“But I changed, Tommy. I’m being a better person. Haven’t I been nice to you this whole time? You’re the one making this worse for yourself.” Dream slowly rises to his feet, languid like he doesn’t care that Tommy has stated trembling. “We could have fun! Tell each other stories. I can tell you where my clock went.”

“I don’t _care_ about your stupid clock! I just want to get out! I want to go home!” He’s backed himself against the wall, keeping himself as far from the other man as possible as he looks rapidly from his face to the lava, choking down the urge to call for Sam, Phil, _anyone_.

Dream’s smile doesn’t change. Its not a grin, or a smirk, or a simper, just a thin black line burned on the inside of his eyelids. Dream’s smile doesn’t change, but he’s laughing when he tells him,

“Nobody’s coming, Tommy.”

**Author's Note:**

> lmao hi! Contrary to popular belief, i actually write more than The Warlocks Apprentice. I mostly write pretty short stuff like this, actually, and I've decided to start posting it because I may as well. Fuckin sppedran this bad boy but I still quite like it. ya girl is TERRIFIED for the coming days, god bless.


End file.
